"What?" said Grasp, who expected a written list of the conspirators. "In G.o.d's name what did you find?"

"Her doublet and hose," said Doubletongue. "The very pair of nether garments in which I had seen her masquerading at the Blue Boar the first night I beheld her."

"Oh, monstrous!" said Grasp. "Tis, undoubtedly the person of whom you are in quest. See, the execution is over and the criminals burnt.

Wherefore not at once, proceed to Blackfriars and identify the house?

To-morrow we will procure a.s.sistance and pounce upon her;" and the two immediately pushed their way through the crowd and left Smithfield.

CHAPTER LVII.

THE POET AND HIS FRIENDS.

The success of Shakespeare's play of Romeo and Juliet had placed him in a somewhat different situation amongst his companions of the theatre. By the majority he was immediately looked up to as a rising star, and whilst others again viewed him with increasing envy, there were one or two who were so much struck with the extraordinary merit of the composition that they already p.r.o.nounced him the wonder of the age.

Such, however, was the agitated state of the kingdom at the moment, and fears, factions, and jealousies, so absorbed the minds of men of all ranks, that except beyond the circle of his own professional brethren, and amongst his own immediate friends of the Court, my Lord of Ess.e.x, Sir Walter Raleigh, Lord Southampton, &c., the effect produced was, after all, but evanescent.

The English nation at this time was yet struggling to emerge from barbarity. The philology of Italy had been transplanted hither in the reign of Henry the Eighth, and the learned languages cultivated by Lilly, Linacre, More, and others. Greek was now taught in some of the princ.i.p.al schools, and many of the learned read the Italian and Spanish poets. But still literature was even yet confined in a great measure to professed scholars, or persons of high rank. The body public was but gross and dark; and to read and write, an accomplishment valued according to its rarity.

Thus, then, the people who witnessed the great curiosity of Shakespeare's new play hardly knew how to judge. It was welcome even to the most rude and vulgar; they looked at it with a sort of childish wonder. It was a delicious and startling change from the giants, dragons, and enchantments they had been used to. Nay, it even bid fair to supersede the interesting exhibition of the bear hugging the dog to death, or the bull driven into madness by agony. The show and bustle of the new play even charmed the rudesby's, who could scarce even comprehend the beauty and elegance of the poetry.

It was on the morning of the same day on which Grasp had witnessed the execution in Smithfield, that Shakespeare made his unsuccessful application to the Earl of Leicester in behalf of his friend Arderne.

After his interview with the fallen favourite, the poet returned, sad and somewhat out of sorts, to his new lodgings in Blackfriars. As was his wont on all occasions wherein his capacious mind had received an impression, he contemplated the object that had furnished it. Indeed, his interview with that ambitious courtier, whose whole life had been a mistake, had been to him a whole volume. "How wretched," he thought, "is that poor man that hangs on prince's favours!" and then he seized his pen and wrote,--

"Fling away ambition, By that sin fell the angels, how can man, then, The image of his Maker, hope to rise by it."

Whilst the poet wrote, as was not uncommonly the case, a whole levee of visitors continually interrupted his labours. This, however, was a circ.u.mstance that seemed rather to aid than disturb the current of his thoughts. He laid down his pen to laugh with the light-hearted, and he thrust aside his ma.n.u.script to listen to the more serious. He was all things with all men. The courtier, the soldier, the scholar, all and each found in him something to wonder at and admire. On this day, which was the sixth for the representation of his play, his visitors were numerous. In addition to many of his brother authors, several of the actors and other persons connected with the theatre, the Earl of Ess.e.x, Sir Walter Raleigh, Lord Southampton, and the poet Spenser, sought him in his lodging. Master Doubletongue too, who on this day had been seeking an opportunity of introducing himself into the house, as he met with some actor or other visitor coming out, hesitated as to the safety of such espial. Nay, he felt considerably astonished at the number and quality of the persons who seemed, as the day advanced, to come thronging about the locality.

Whilst he continued watching for some person he appeared to expect, he beheld the open s.p.a.ce in front of the house filled with the attendants of several n.o.bles of the Court; their magnificent steeds, gaily caparisoned, being led up and down, or held by servitors with the emblazoned badges of the favourites of the Queen.

It is indeed curious to consider the poet himself during the visit of these magnificoes, and who, in the enjoyment of his society, sought a new pleasure; visitors who, like himself, were elevated above "the common cry of curs," and, leaving their high rank out of the question, worthy of the friendship of Shakespeare. The poet himself, too, was perfectly at his ease in the company of these haughty n.o.bles. He sat and conversed with them in all the freedom of unchecked enjoyment.

To attempt any description of the conversation carried on amongst these choice and master spirits of the age would be vain and ridiculous, since it exceeds the power of our pen to describe it. Nay, were it possible so to do, we must of necessity furnish forth to the world a dialogue such as is only to be found in the page of him who acted as the host to the a.s.semblage.

Let us look at the picture, for it is one worthy of regard. Shakespeare sits beneath the ample chimney, his table is before him, strewed with papers. He leans back in his chair; a divine expression, a sweet smile is on his bearded face. Opposite to him is his patron, Lord Southampton, his chin resting upon the hilt of his sheathed rapier, his eyes and ears intent upon the subject Shakespeare is speaking of. Beside Shakespeare, leaning his cheek upon his hand, his elbow upon the table, sits the magnificent Ess.e.x; he also is intently regarding the poet, admiration in his gaze. Standing somewhat behind Lord Southampton, his back against the carved chimney, is the poet Spenser. Raleigh sits within the embayment of the window; his plumed hat is carelessly thrown down beside him, and his quick, restless glance is ever and anon turned from the poet towards the different craft which pa.s.s and repa.s.s upon the Thames below. Beside these, _elite_ of the company, there is Tarleton, the comedian and Court fool, who, under cover of his folly, shoots his bolts upon all the party. One more addition, and the party is completed; and it is made up by the dissolute friend of the poet, the fat and jovial Froth.

Whilst they are engaged in conversation, the drawer from an adjoining tavern enters with wine and other refreshments. From long-necked and quaint-looking bottles is poured the wines of Gascony and Spain. The means, too, and appliances for indulgence in Sir Walter's favourite weed is then handed round, and (as was the custom of the period) each guest takes a whiff; the thin blue smoke mounts into the air, and eddies about the carved ceiling; and, as the mirth and joviality of the party grows faster, time flies unheeded by, the shadows descend upon the Thames, again and again the bottles are renewed, and another day dawns upon the party, ere they recollect how the hours have fled.

Can our readers wonder at this, when they remember of what that party consisted, and their entertainer? Those magnificoes had come to pay the poet a morning visit, and they had stayed half a day and one entire night. Shakespeare was their entertainer!

As the first faint streaks of dawn began to "lace the severing clouds,"

the poet stood alone in his apartment. His guests had left him, and his room shewed tokens of the revel they had been engaged in.

The revellers had drank deep, for they were such as would be most likely to give themselves up to the peculiar enjoyment of the hour. Shakespeare had cheered the cup for them.

As the glorious poet glanced upon the heap of empty flaskets, broken bottles, remnants of long-necked gla.s.ses, and capacious bowled pipes, together with all the _debris_ of a long-continued orgie, he smiled, and stepping to the lattice-window, threw it open, and stood to enjoy the refreshing breeze from the river.

Whilst he stood and gazed upon the Thames, the boats containing his recent guests glided past, on their way to Greenwich; for Ess.e.x and Southampton, when they found themselves regularly set in for an orgie, had some time before sent away their steeds.

They waved their hands an they pa.s.sed, on observing the poet, and he remained listening to the music from the boat which followed the barge of Ess.e.x, as it grew fainter and fainter in the distance.

As Shakespeare turned from the window, the arras near the fire-place was lifted, and two persons noiselessly entered. He started as he beheld them, for by the faint morning light he distinguished in one of them the beautiful female we have before remarked, dwelling beneath his roof; the other was our old friend Martin. Something more than ordinary he well knew must have caused her to enter the wing of the building he inhabited; in addition to which, he saw she was equipped in her masculine costume, and, together with her companion, prepared for a journey.

"We have come to bid you farewell," she said, as the poet stepped up to her, and took her hand.

"This is somewhat sudden," he returned. "I hoped to have been of your party into Warwickshire."

"Certain spies, good Master Shakespeare," said Martin, "have it seems noted this lady's residence beneath your roof, and she has fallen under suspicion of treasonable matter."

"Yes," said the lady, "my faithful friend and adviser here has discovered so much. My presence here might even compromise you, my kind friend and preserver. We have therefore resolved, at once, to set off on our journey."

"And how then have you learnt this?" inquired Shakespeare.

"Nay, heed not my means of intelligence," said Martin. "Thou know'st I possess the secret of divination, or I could never have at last escaped the Spanish Inquisition, and discovered the residence of this lady in London. Suffice it we know our danger, and must fly."

"And do you then still purpose seeking Kenilworth?" inquired Shakespeare of his beautiful friend.

"I do," she replied. "Lady Leicester is my friend. She will, I trust, be able to do service to him we wish well to. My best hope is from that quarter."

"I have already seen the Earl," said Shakespeare, "and my own expectations, in that quarter, touch ground."

"From the Earl himself I never entertained a particle of hope," said the lady, "his Countess may, however, serve us, for she is my friend."

"All good angels, then, speed you on your journey!" said Shakespeare. "I have myself other chances here. The Earl of Ess.e.x hath promised to speak with the Queen, ere another day pa.s.ses, added to which, Lord Southampton and Sir Walter Raleigh have sworn to back his suit."

"Have you, then, seen the Earl of Ess.e.x on this matter?" inquired Martin, in some surprise.

"He and Lord Southampton were here but now," said Shakespeare, smiling, and pointing to the confused state of the apartment. "Behold the witness of their revel. Some ten minutes back they left me to take boat for Greenwich, where the Queen at present stays."

"Farewell, then," said the lady sorrowing, "we dare no longer stay, may we soon meet again!"

"Heaven grant it, fair excellence," said Shakespeare, "until I again revisit my home in Warwickshire, I shall have but small contentment. But until I see my friend out of jeopardy, and clear of imprisonment, I have neither home nor friends there."

"'Tis like yourself," said the lady. "Farewell! We shall soon then meet, I trust. Walter Arderne once relieved from durance, and my task is effected."

CHAPTER LVIII.

STRATFORD AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD.

After absence from a well-known locality how fresh and verdant seems every spot there. The mind which has dwelt, again and again, upon every nook and corner, unmarked perhaps and unappreciated whilst in the neighbourhood, becomes enamoured absolutely of trivialities and trifles.

How well doth the exile, eating the bitter bread of banishment, perhaps breathing the hot air of the tropics, many, many thousand leagues from the quiet village in which he first drew breath--how well doth he recollect, and dwell with fondness upon each street or lane of the village suburb, the school-boy spot, the home the wanderer longs for with an undying desire!

And if such be the case, how anxiously, and even sadly, do we think upon those relatives and friends domesticated in the far-away home, and see them in their old-accustomed places. Relations so dear and friends so esteemed, yet, perhaps, never again to be met with in life, and therefore more cherished in our thoughts.